


Temptation

by joan_waterhouse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joan_waterhouse/pseuds/joan_waterhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No medium drip slurping hipsters in these parts. Here he was safe. Or so he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lkaet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lkaet/gifts).



" _Good for your health_!" Draco scoffed as he wandered the streets of the beautiful, vibrant city, which on better days he considered his home. Not today, though. Today that same vibrancy drove Draco to take yet another detour.

He couldn't bear it any longer. The jitters, the temper, the headache - all of this he had expected. Pain was easy. Mood swings were a challenge only to the greenest of novices. Draco's trouble was temptation. The whole of civilisation seemed to be built on _it_. This most wonderful liquid fuelling medical students, software engineers, writers and sleep deprived young mothers alike. The very substance Draco now had to avoid.

He withdrew into one of the smaller backstreets. No medium drip slurping hipsters in these parts. Here he was safe.

Or so he'd thought.

Just a couple steps away, a first floor window stood open. Wafts of hot, fragrant air made contact with Draco's olfactory receptors and destroyed what was left of Draco's self-restraint.

Lesser wizards would have succumbed.

It had not been a conscious decision to climb through the window. But through the window Draco must have climbed, as he was now stood in a cosily cluttered kitchen, right in front of a stove bearing an old Italian espresso pot. Reverently he stretched out his hand, paused for a moment. His fingertips hovered mere inches away from the vessel containing the precious liquid. Then he drew a shaky breath and flipped the lid open.

Consider Psalm 143:6: _I spread out my hands to you; I thirst for you like a parched land._ This is how our young hero felt as he gazed into that hallowed urn and found his hope shattered.

The espresso pot was empty.

But what was this? The wooden floor behind Draco squeaked softly. As he turned around Draco became aware of a coffee mug.

Advanced readers will already suspect that this coffee mug was not solitarily suspended in mid air. Rather, it was held by a strong hand, which was attached to a strong arm, and this, in turn, belonged to a t-shirt-clad, messy-haired, bespectacled man. But Draco couldn't care less about any of this. If he had, though, he would have confirmed what we - well educated witches and wizards that we are - have no difficulty to guess.

"Malfoy!" The coffee-bearer's voice was accusing, malicious even, as he stood in the doorway clutching his mug. Draco could feel that this man wouldn't part easily with his hot, caffeinated beverage. A strategy was needed. Alas, Draco's Slytherin cunning lay hidden deep below the agitation of the caffeine-deprived. So he went for sending a clear massage instead.

"Coffee!" he demanded and lent his demands greater force by grabbing the arabica-fragranced person by the shoulders and pushing them against the doorway.

Draco lost no time to tracing his hands over well defined shoulders; he didn't let himself get distracted by the tantalising mixture of confusion and amusement which sparkled in these green eyes. No. Draco had made a more vital observation: there was a deliciously sparkling black drop of the finest elixir known to wizardkind glistening on the corner of the man's mouth.

Draco couldn't hold himself back any longer.

"Coffee," he muttered again - a fair warning, he was sure - and then he dived in.

He nuzzled and sucked and licked. It tasted bitter and absolutely wonderful. This was the most fantastic brew he'd ever tasted. He easily recognised that he'd been right and the beans were indeed arabica, as he'd guessed before. They'd probably been roasted at the small shop near Diagon Alley or possibly in that Muggle coffee roasters whose name he always forgot (those two tasted surprisingly alike).

But there was something else. Thankfully it wasn't milk or sugar (how some brutes had the audacity to desecrate a perfect cup of coffee with additions of any kind he would never be able to grasp). No, it was nothing like that. It was true that it was sweet, but not pronounced enough to cover the coffee's aroma. A trace of honey maybe. Or treacle.

And then there was the smell. Draco couldn't quite determine what it was, but this smell went along so perfectly with the taste of coffee that Draco hoped he'd never have to taste a cup without it.

He hummed in appreciation and couldn't help the satisfied grin spreading over his face. Then, he slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring into a very familiar face.

"I understand you want a cup of coffee?" Potter asked politely. At some point he must have moved his free hand to Draco's hip, because there it was now, not showing the slightest inclination to move.

"Never mind," Draco answered. "I think I've found something better."


End file.
